The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1887-11-03

did notloye me. - -. !.
And Remembered the young man who
sought to rival me in her affections "a
handsome, dark haired, reserved young
man who had quietly accepted her answer,
and for three years waited patiently for
this opportunity to renew. his suit. A
woman tires of q lover, and wife may
well tire Of o husband. Ny darling had
proved herself no exception. Not that
she would have abandoned me- living
her wTe1yY duty,. and her virtue would
have prevented that-but a husband dead
Is. a duty done, and the grave swallows
every obligation. And when the brief
season Of hypocritical grief shall irhave
passed by, the dark haired, handsome
young man with the earnest, pleading
eyes, will once more take his place by her
iside-his arm will encircle her yielding
waist This lips will meet hers IN the pas
.sionate kiss Of a love that glows. warm be-
meath the ashes of mine. y q
Thus did jealousy feed like :harpy
upon the tenderest emotions Of my heart.
What, a depth Of despair had reached, to
lie there dying, bereft of hope, and suf-
fering tho torments Of the damned. and
yet find an abiding place in my horror
haunted soul for such a grizzly guest as
Jealousy. My head ached, and my throat
was strained as dumb sorrow strains lit.
I gnashed my;teeth in impotent rage, and
my fingers clinched that cloth button-I
tore it from its. fastening as I would have
torn her heart out at that moment, and I
held it tight clasped in my hand, half fear
ing that / would lose it, and wondering in
a vague sort Of way. why wished to
keep it, ia'7
Tears! Oh, the solace of those tears at
that moment Of supreme agony. I wept
like woman, and was filed with pity
of myseH-such pity as the soul Of man
has never felt. But at the same time I
reproached myself. Why had not. in
sisted upon an autopsy in the event of my
death? ;. Why had not persisted in my
expressed desire that ] should be cremated9
Death would probably have resulted in
either case,J but certainly death in any
shape was preferable to this death. But,
aside from all this, the delay and prepara-
tion for the dissecting room or the furnace
would have afforded some slight chance
Of ultimate escape. Had I not revived, as
it was, would not have manifested some
sign of returning consciousness under the
other circumstance Seven at the point OF
the surgeons knife-even at the door Of
the glowing furnace?
Thus do we cheat ourselves with hopes
that never exist save as regrets. Sud-
denly my fancies ran another way. !
saw masked grave robbers creeping at
midnight through the cemetery in which
I was buried. heard their hoarse whis-
pers as they. approached my grave, and I
waited, almost. joyfully, to hear the sound
ing iron as it penetrated the loose soil to
search for my coffin. Oh, how my ears
strained through that awful silence for
the dull, muf1edi blow that I had
heard through the ear Of my wild i'm
agination. I calculated that. these pol
luted saviors would sound my box three
or perhaps even four times before they
were satisfied as to where they should
begin their horrid work Of resurrection.
Horrid work? No; glorious deed, for
which I should bless them through eter-
nity-beyond the second weeping, when
my real corpse should repose, cold and
forbid that should ever lie here again.
My body should be embalmed when real
death came to claim memo more agony
of living death.
Why don't they hurry? Surely they
have had ample time to drive that rod
down through the grave. Have they be-
come alarmed at some unusual sound, and
are they hiding behind some neighboring
monument until the danger is passed.
Why do society and the law SO relentlessly
pursue these ardent devotees Of science
these brave iscavengers of the battle field
of disease? I am not the only man who
has been buried alive; and what matters it
If q thousand, nay, if ten thousand graves
are desecrated, II one poor, despairing
wretch is restored to life, and light, and
freedom2 w hat sickly sentimentality, what
pulling cowardce, is this so called respect
for the dead. Dove not forget our dead
almost as soon as they are out of our
sights Is not the dust of forgotten bill
lions blown in the faces of the living mil
lions by every passing breeze?
Why do not these men begin their work?
There is no danger, my friends. Hurry!
The air in this horrible prison is tainted
and poisoned with my own breath. I
shall sufocate if I am not released.
Hurry! It will soon be too late. My case
is q peculiar one. You know that ought
to be dissected for the benefit of science.
1t is true that you do not know that your
labors will result in naught so far as sci
entific research Is concerned, but what
does that matter? Hurry! You have GER
tainly heard of the mystery surrounding
my death, as it was called-you know
that all the physicians were unable to ac-
count for this unexpected result, else why
have you come to take me out of my tomb?
Then, why do you not make haste to Sc
cure the valuable knowledge you are
seeking?
Silence utter silencel My God, is
there indeed no hope? No hope! No
hope!
Ah! It is no longer dark. A CHASTITY,
nervous, tremulous light dances to and
fro, up and down before my staring eye
balls. 1t is thread like, yellowish light,
crossed with beams of crimson hue
tinged with a purple that sometimes
changes to q deep blue. 1t is segregated,
misshapen light that wriggles and swims
before me like q corpse light-the miasm
of a place-where the dead have long lain
unburied. The air grows more fetid.
There is horrible pressure on my chest.
The lights dance before my staring eyes
with brighter radiance and more definite
form. My imagination can shape them at
will, and faces have begun to peer ut me
out Of the wall of darkness against which
these lights play. I feel that insanity is
lurking behind all this horror. can see
the beginning Of the awful end. The cli-
max will be something frightful.
There is still one chance, one avenue OF
escape, one hope-death! My bleeding
hands remind me that suicide is within
my reach. Strange con.radiction-I am
afraid to die; am afraid to live. On the
one hand, fear the horrors of the ull-
known; on the other, fear the horrors OF
the reality.
still the faces peer out of the darkness,
growing more distinct every instant-the
faces of the living, the faces of the dead,
the faces of those loved and remembered,
the faces of those long forgotten. And